Actually, there are SO many more things that are better…I’m not a huge football fan to begin with, and football with a baby? Not so much. As I described to dear friend Courtney, going to a football game is like a max 7 on the Fun Scale (from one to ten). Seven is the highest the scale goes when sports are involved. And, as I mentioned, throw in a baby and you have an automatic minus ten. So really, on the Fun Scale, we are looking at a maximum of -3 total points. Not good, friends, not good.

And yet, it was a surprisingly enjoyable weekend. I do have to offer this caveat, though, in the spirit of honesty - the weekend had nothing to do with fun or football. It was fun because it was a success. And success is defined as 'we survived and the child slept.' I remember when fun was defined as something else...something much truer to the actual Webster definition, but what can you do?

Brian and I drove down to Phoenix on Saturday morning, and I will admit, I was insanely excited to spend 5 full hours with my husband without the possibility of firm phone calls and/or a screaming baby. We could actually talk! What would we talk about? It was like a date! Only in a car! And although we had to navigate through some dangerous territory (Hoover Dam, anyone?), it was a surprisingly scenic drive, resplendent with large rock formations and desert cacti. The Bear slept, Brian and I dined on Starbucks (skinny vanilla latte for him, regular drip with soy milk for me, muffins all around), and we talked as though we were a couple without kids. Which was refreshingly delicious.

We went to a Packer rally at a local Sports bar on Saturday night, and all of the green and gold made Brian almost giddy. It was cute to watch. This is a much-needed change from his demeanor earlier that afternoon when we were in Kingman, AZ. I seriously yelled at Brian for about 30 miles. Why? you ask. Well, let's just describe it like this: we had just pulled into a gas station. Brian got out to pump gas. I went inside to get drinks. While inside, I decided it would be prudent to also use the restroom. Upon leaving the restroom, I found a very nonchalant Brian standing next to the soda fountain selection, perusing the choices. Sans baby.

Let me say that again; Sans baby.

I gasped as soon as I saw him. "Where is the Bear?" I hissed.

He looked over at me. He gestured over his shoulder. "In the car. Totally asleep." He smiled confidently.

I about had a heart attack. I kid you not. I'm sure my posture dropped to crouch-like status and I immediately began running towards the car. "You can't do that!" I shrieked. "You CAN'T DO THAT!"

He caught me at the door. "What? Huh? He's fine."

I stuttered, barely able to contain my emotions. "No! You can't do that! He's not a DOG! People STEAL babies! Babies DIE in CARS! Go to the car! Go to the CAR!"

Brian hightailed it out of the gas station and with shaking hands, I purchased a water and a Gatorade. Shaking. Shaking.

And thus, for the next thirty miles, I berated Brian about how/why it is bad to leave a baby in the car. He honestly did not know he could not leave a baby in the car. In his defense, it's not like this is mentioned in any baby books. Nor had it been a topic of discussion between us, so...who knew? I think he got the point after the first .5 miles, but I continued for the next 25.5 for good measure. Needless to say, Brian will not be leaving the child in the car any time soon.

So, yeah, Packer rally on Saturday night. Again, when you have a baby with you, you don't get to drink beer and hang with the other Wisconsin folk. You don't get to stand in line to get signed souveniers from former Packer players. And with a baby, you eat as quickly as you can because your child has woken up and you know you are 2.1 seconds away from a total meltdown. Which is exactly what we did.

I am happy to report the Bear slept (!!) from 10pm until 7am on Saturday night. Mind you, our teeny-tiny bar area looked like this:

so it's not like we were living large. I washed bottles while Brian rocked the Bear to sleep. We had ordered a crib from the hotel (along with a room far, far away from other patrons) and it reminded us of an orphanage crib in Romaina. White bars, thin mattress, etc. Scotty looked so sad in it that I couldn't bring myself to take a picture, but it worked. He slept. God bless the sleeping baby.

Brian and I were seriously afraid to move after he fell asleep, and I must have woken about 10 times upon hearing the cries of the baby next door. Yes, some other couple must have asked for a room far, far away because they, too, had a sleep-striking infant. I didn't even want to cough out of fear of waking Scotty. Yet, miraculously, when I looked at my watch for the first time that morning, it read 7:04am. God bless us all. Scotty slept through the night in a different zip code.

And that football game we were supposed to attend? Practically an afterthought after a night of Sleepy Scotty. Let's just say it like this: I'm fairly certain we have traumatized Scotty to crazy people wearing red waving towels. The minute we sat down, I knew it was going to be a long day. He immediately looked around at the screaming Cardinal fans and began howling. The damn Cardinal fans wouldn't shut up (it was the National Anthem! Stop screaming! Your team isn't that good!) and I realized quickly that I would not be able to shush 90,000 fans, so I hightailed it out of the arena. Which began...the walking.

And more walking. And then...more walking.

I think I might be able to give Jillian Michaels a run for her money. Last-chance work-out? Yeah, try strapping a 20-lb infant to your body and climbing stadium stairs for two hours. Brian looked so cute and so happy in his seat (along with the other Packer fans that were in our row) that i couldn't bring myself to ask him to help out with the baby. And so, I accepted my lot in life: miss the entire time, tend to my child, and walk the Earth like Cain from Kung Fu. Or at least, University of Phoenix Stadium for four, long quarters. Oh, and let's not forget: overtime, too. Yeeeeeah, me.

On my second lap around the stadium, vendors started smiling at me. I stopped to chat with them. Ditto for security. And some other folks even found Scotty so cute that they asked me to pose for pictures for them. I felt like the Paris Hilton of the Packer game - I was a bona fide celebrity! People LOVED my baby. This was great! Nothing boosts a mood like some ego-stroking. Though it wasn't me that was generating the buzz, it was still fun to pose with the Bear. As long as we don't end up on some random website or Facebook page. (please keep an eye out for me.)

So, yeah, it was fun. I ate a soft pretzel while Scotty vomited on me. I grabbed a Coke during one of my laps and strongly considered doing leg lunges. It was like my own personal gym, but with yummy snacks. When the whole arena erupted into joyous celebration (thus confirming my fears that the Packers lost), I stood stoically by a large pillar and prayed the Bear and I didn't get trampled. We didn't. But we were greeted by a very sad, forelorn Brian carrying a diaper bag. He looked like someone just took his puppy. Poor guy. Needless to say, it was a quiet ride home.

And so, football season for our family is over. No more GanstaBoy standing hopefully on our doorstep, no more Sunday mornings with Uncle Jim (and Starbucks doughnuts!), and no more Scotty in his Packer onesie. Which, by the way, he fills in VERY well. Considering he started football season a mere 8-9lbs, he is pushing 20 at this point. Which, in my opinion, makes the whole season a success.